


cottonmouth

by luftballons99



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Fluff, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Purring Snufkin, Recreational Drug Use, also he has a tail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 02:57:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18240986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luftballons99/pseuds/luftballons99
Summary: On a tranquil midsummer afternoon, Moomintroll and Snufkin enjoy a recreational herb and each other's company.





	cottonmouth

It's the late afternoon and bright rays of the setting sun reach out from behind the mountains surrounding Moominvalley with the golden promise of a warm midsummer evening. Light touches each shimmering ripple in the river and shines through every leaf and flower petal. Bees hum in their hives, butterflies greet their buttercups with a kiss. Somewhere past the forest's edge, a lark whistles its tune.

Moomintroll picks a daisy from the grass at his side and holds it up to the light, the veins in its white petals revealing themselves like invisible ink. He lowers it again, smiling, and links its stem with that of another. Beside him, Snufkin is on his back in the flowerbed, bluebells framing his face as he blows smoke rings that join the fluffy white clouds in the sky above. The frayed brim of his hat covers his eyes and casts a faint shadow over his smiling mouth. The mouthpiece of his pipe fits snugly between his teeth. 

Moomintroll observes him bite down on it idly and feels a tug at his heart. Snufkin seems to sense he is being watched and flicks the brim of his hat to reveal his twinkling eyes. He looks up.

“Do you want another song?” He takes the bowl of his pipe between his fingers and taps the mouth-organ on his chest with its mouthpiece.

Moomintroll smiles and shakes his head, fiddling with his unfinished flower garland. Snufkin's eyes are hooded and dusty pink around the irises. 

“I was wondering if I could try your pipe,” he finds himself saying. He still can't decide if he likes the earthy smell of the smoke or not, but it reminds him of Snufkin, and that alone is reason enough to give it a try. 

Snufkin blinks up at him for a moment, but seems mostly unfazed. Moomintroll appreciates that; shock would just fluster and discourage him. 

He loops another daisy into his garland as Snufkin sets his mouth-organ down next to him and sits up, scratching the spots on his neck and jaw where flower petals and blades of grass tickled him while he was lying down. Moomintroll giggles and picks a forget-me-not out of the hair behind Snufkin's ear. He tucks it between two daisies; a sapphire embellishment on a pearl necklace.

“It can be quite tricky if you haven't done it before,” Snufkin says, peering down into the bowl of his pipe and poking at its contents with his pinky. He wrinkles his long nose and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a book of matches. “Take my pipe, Moomin, and put the mouthpiece between your lips.”

Moomintroll complies, setting aside his garland and putting the pipe to his mouth.

“I will light this match and you will breathe in as you normally do,” Snufkin instructs, shifting closer. Their shoulders touch and Moomintroll is fairly certain he can feel Snufkin's tail swish and flick against his own. 

“Does it hurt?” he asks, excited but wary. 

“It shouldn't really, no,” Snufkin assures him, “but don't fret if you have to cough.”

Moomintroll looks down at the contents of the pipe. It looks like little green tumble-weeds in there. “Will it make me sick?”

Snufkin laughs a little, the sound even sweeter than his songs. 

“It will make you smile,” he says, “and perhaps hungry, but not sick. It is only a small amount today.” He tilts his head back, basking in sunlight. “And who could be sick when the weather is so lovely?”

Moomintroll mirrors him, looking up at the sky's blend of colors and feeling the warm wind blowing through the forest's clearing. He closes his eyes for a moment before announcing that he is ready.

Snufkin lights his match with a practiced flick of his wrist and guides the flame to hover over the bowl. Moomintroll closes his eyes and sucks in a tentative breath. The warm smoke sticks in his throat and fills his lungs, but not unpleasantly, and when he blinks his eyes he realizes his eyelids will only open so far.

Snufkin chuckles. “Beautiful.” He takes his pipe back into his own paw and smokes from it himself. Moomintroll feels contentment settle in the curve of his smile as he watches his friend blow smoke rings and reaches out to catch them before they fly away. Snufkin laughs again and stuffs the burnt-out match in his pocket.

“How do you feel?” he wonders, offering Moomintroll the pipe once more. He lights another match and they repeat the same process as before.

This time, Moomintroll dares to breathe deeper, letting the smoke fill not only his lungs but also his belly, his bones - everything, it seems - before finally exhaling. He accidentally blows the cloud directly into Snufkin's face and can't help but giggle when Snufkin begins to cough.

“Oops,” Moomintroll says clumsily, handing the pipe back.

Snufkin takes it with a raspy chuckle. “Oops,” he parrots, which seems very funny to Moomintroll somehow, and then everything seems very funny to Moomintroll somehow; so funny he falls back into the flowerbed and his laughter echoes all throughout the valley. His joy is uncontainable and soon his face hurts from smiling so much. 

Snufkin is quick to join him in lying down, cheek in one paw, pipe in the other. “You haven't answered me,” he reminds Moomintroll, amusement dancing across his fine features.

“I've forgotten what you asked,” Moomintroll giggles out, and giggles harder when Snufkin sticks his pipe between his teeth, picks a bluebell, and uses it to tickle Moomintroll's snout in punishment.

“How do you feel?” His paw retreats to tuck the bluebell into the crown of flowers on his hat. Moomintroll remembers the garland he was making and picks it up with as much delicacy as his clumsy paws can manage. He plucks Snufkin's hat off his head so he can loop the garland around his neck. When he returns the hat to its perch, it sits crookedly. Charmingly.

“I feel like I'm going to float away,” he answers, inching closer to his companion. “Like one of your smoke rings.” 

Snufkin hums in consideration. Moomintroll loves that about him. Every one of his thoughts, every detailed daydream or half-formed sentiment, is, to Snufkin, worthy of earnest contemplation. 

“I will float with you.” He places a warm paw on Moomintroll's side and bows until their foreheads touch. They're so close now that Moomintroll can count his eyelashes, each one dark with flecks of reddish brown.

Moomintroll grins. “You are beautiful today,” he says. 

Snufkin becomes distinctly redder, and one-hundred times more lovely.

“My dearest friend,” he whispers, smiling, “you make today beautiful.”

Moomintroll laughs so hard he snorts, and the sound is horrible, but Snufkin keeps looking at him like he hung the moon, and suddenly nothing can ever really be horrible again. He takes Snufkin's pipe and sets it aside, needing it out of the way. He bumps his nose against Snufkin's softly, and feels Snufkin nuzzle him in return. Encouraged, he buries his snout in the crook of Snufkin's neck. It's too warm for Snufkin to wear his scarf today - even his usual tunic has been replaced with something breezier - and so Moomin can feel the heat and texture of his skin. He smells like bluebells, like grass, like smoke, like sweat - like summer, in a word - and it's perfect.

Snufkin laughs as his friend rolls him onto his back and tucks himself snugly under Snufkin's chin. Moomintroll closes his eyes, feels Snufkin scratch behind his ear with one paw and pet the parts of his back he can reach with the other. Every touch sends a wave of energy pulsating through him like a full-body heartbeat. He hears a deep rumble in Snufkin's chest and realizes that his friend is purring.

“My favorite sound,” he says dreamily, burrowing further into Snufkin's collarbone.

“Moomin,” is Snufkin's breathy response. He nuzzles the top of Moomintroll's head and holds him a little tighter.

They pass the pipe between them as afternoon becomes dusk and the lark's song is replaced with an owl's. There's a chill in the air and the first hint of polaris twinkling somewhere behind the wispy clouds above. Fireflies rise from the bushes and blink like little floating ships in the night. The firmament spans the valley in shades of soft pink and dark blue, catching them.

“It's getting late,” Moomintroll remarks, brushing his paw over the old linen of Snufkin's shirt and marvelling at how fabric can possibly feel so loud. Snufkin is still purring faintly, tilting his head and rubbing his cheek against Moomintroll’s twitching ear. “Maybe we should eat something. You were right, I am hungry.”

“Fish?” Snufkin suggests, the low rumble in his chest ceasing at once. Moomintroll can see the silhouette of his tail swish in interest.

“Mamma probably set aside food for us since we missed dinner. Shall we go see?” Now that Moomintroll thinks about it, he hopes Mamma isn't upset.

“Oh, that's right,” Snufkin says. He stretches with a grunt, his back arching off the ground, and pats Moomintroll's shoulder; it's time to get up.

They giggle and stumble through the dark. The windows of Moominhouse shine bright yellow, guiding them home like a lighthouse does with wayward ships. Moominmamma is still up when they come in, mending Little My's tights at the kitchen table as soft jazz spills from the old phonograph in the corner of the room. She greets them with a smile and nods towards the two bowls of fruit salad and glasses of lemonade across from her.

“I thought it would be nice, since it's so warm today,” she explains as Moomintroll and Snufkin walk over and express their thanks with kisses to her forehead. Her fond eyes crinkle at the edges. 

The boys take their bowls and glasses out to the porch and sit on the steps. Snufkin lights his pipe again and they each get one more pull from it before he announces it's all used up and dumps the charred contents of the bowl into the grass. They eat in silence, fruit juice coating their tongues and running down their chins. Before tonight, if asked, Moomintroll would not have said fruit salad is his favorite food. Now he's not so sure. It's the most delicious thing he's ever tasted, and Snufkin seems to agree. They shuffle back and forth between the porch and the kitchen for seconds and thirds and fourths until the moon is high, Mamma has gone to bed, and Moomintroll doesn't dare check the clock in the living room for the time. This moment exists outside of time, anyway, in Moomintroll and Snufkin's quiet pocket of the world.

“Today was a good day,” Moomintroll sighs, watching fireflies dance over the river. He looks down to where his and Snufkin's paws rest on the old wooden porch steps, and covers Snufkin's with his own.

“It was.” Snufkin takes off his hat and drops it on Moomintroll's unsuspecting head. He runs a hand through his flattened hair. “The mixture I smoke - it’s not for everyone, but I'm glad you enjoy it.”

“I do, but I wasn't talking about that.” Moomintroll feels heat flood his face as he scooches closer to his friend and links their fingers. “Any day with you, Snufkin, is a good day.”

Snufkin ducks his head, moving to tug the brim of his hat down before seeming to remember he gave it to Moomintroll. He chuckles, sheepish, and cups his reddened cheek with his free paw. Moomintroll forces himself to look away, wanting to give Snufkin a moment to compose himself, but a rough paw on the side of his face turns him back. Snufkin leans in close, his eyes falling shut as he angles his head just so. Their mouths press, clumsy but firm, in a mumrik's kiss. Snufkin's lips are dry and warm like smoke. Moomintroll breathes him in.

Snufkin pulls away far enough that the kiss ends, but close enough that their noses still brush.

“Goodnight, Moomintroll,” he whispers, squeezing his friend’s paw. His eyes shine under the light of the moon, tender as a hearth.

Moomintroll nods, dazed, as Snufkin stands and reclaims his hat. “It is, isn't it?” he mutters absently, not realizing he said it out loud until Snufkin blinks down at him and chuckles.

“I'll see you in the morning,” he says, tugging on the brim of his hat.

With one final stroke of his paw over Moomintroll's head, Snufkin descends the porch steps and makes his way to the bridge. Moomintroll feels a familiar pull at his heart as he watches his friend leave, but smiles when Snufkin waves goodbye before ducking into his tent. 

Moomintroll turns in shortly afterwards, the promise of another good day lulling him into peaceful slumber.

  
  
  
  


 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i feel like everyone in moominvalley smokes weed now and then so its a pretty chill thing. like as long as youre not hurting anybody nobody cares what you do (except maybe the cop guy but thats not going to stop snufkin). also i know the title doesnt really fit into the story but it was the only weed term that sounds cute to me and in the end this fic isnt supposed to be hashtag edgy its supposed to be wholesome. also i feel like moomins dont usually kiss on the mouth bc their noses would get in the way but snufkin just cant help himself.  
> anyway hope you enjoyed reading!
> 
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> 
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